


Caught in the Crossfire

by mermistas suit (sharknana29)



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: F/M, angsty war au, but historical seamista??? sign me tf up, im always a slut for seamista, no major character death but one of the characters this is focused on does die, seahawk continues to burn things, theres technically a little angella/micah in this but not really, vaguelly historical, whooh boy is this a self indulgent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:27:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24760063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharknana29/pseuds/mermistas%20suit
Summary: more of this was written in a half-asleep stupor than I would like to admit. enjoy?
Relationships: Mermista/Sea Hawk (She-Ra)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	Caught in the Crossfire

**Author's Note:**

> I would first like to thank my beta, PilotInTheStars for dealing with my bullshit throughout the writing of this. I also want to shout out everyone on the Cephalopod Literary Society discord server, yall are great. enjoy!

“Seahawk, please. Don’t go.” Mermista shed tears for the first time in this war. She hadn’t cried when her mother had died. She had stayed strong as the land she had grown up in was torn to shreds by the fighting going on around her. But this, _this_ had been the straw to break the camel’s back. He couldn’t go, he just couldn’t. 

“Dearest, I must. You know that.” She did. But if there was any way she could ignore it, she would. He lifted her chin and gave her a soft kiss full of unspoken longing. The pair wished for more time together, time they might never again have. 

They broke apart, and Mermista watched Seahawk walk away from her towards his death.

She was going after him. Her father had protested, tried to keep her safe with him, but nothing would deter her. Mermista left some time in the deep of night, a note left behind for her father. 

She would have to take a boat along the river to reach them in time.

The night had been long and grueling, even with the current in her favor. But she had arrived, and that was all that mattered in that moment. She would be reunited with Seahawk. She would join the other women following their dear soldiers. They would find a way to be together. All she had to do now was find him among the swarming mass of people.

The first person she approached was a tall woman with a powerful air about her. Mermista soon discovered her name to be Angella, the wife of the general. The new recruits would be nearest the entrance to the camp, probably still getting processed. 

Mermista thanked the general’s wife and approached the camp itself, suddenly wrought with fear. What if he sent her back? Would she make it back home if he did? What if he had already found another woman? What if he had never really wanted her there? Would she go home then, tail tucked between her legs? She kept moving forward, determined to at least find out. 

At first, Mermista couldn’t focus on any of the faces before her. But as her eyes grew accustomed to the overwhelming slew of new soldiers, she found her dearest partner. 

He looked different somehow. More changed in a single day than in all the time she had known him. His uniform was too big, she noticed with a small grin. The soldiers were moving about; being served a meager breakfast and finding a place to lay their bedrolls. Mermista figured this to be as good a time as any to declare her presence to him. 

“Seahawk!”

He looked up to see her racing towards him and he met her in a warm embrace. He then held her at arm’s length to examine her. “Mermista, what are you doing here?” 

“I need to be with you, Seahawk. Besides, _someone_ has to make sure you stay alive.” She pulled him in for a kiss. They were contradictory, the feelings felt in that moment. Happy and angry, scared and relieved. But they were, for the moment, together again. The rest would fall into place. It had to. 

Things were not falling into place. Mermista had no idea how to cook or mend or do any of the other things the women at the camp were doing. Every day she saw more and more soldiers coming back on stretchers. Every day she prayed to any god that would listen that Seahawk wasn’t among them.

On the upside, whenever Seahawk had a free moment, they spent it together. He regaled her with tales of his bravery on the battlefield. (Other soldiers guaranteed Mermista afterward that he was in no way being as reckless and stupid as he would have turned out to be had the stories been true.) She cheered him on in the near-endless arm wrestling challenges, and the nights they had together were spent cuddling by a fire. 

Seahawk gave Mermista his bandana one day, telling her that the foes he had faced were starting to target him because of its identifiable bright red. She was glad to carry a part of him with her as she went through each day feeling scared and useless. His cheery, optimistic outlook on life would push the two of them through this war. 

Mermista may not have been much help with the more domestic chores at the camp, but she managed to find other ways to be helpful. She had been spending her time in the medical tent, learning all she could about treating the soldier’s wounds. Whether it was disinfecting needles with cheap alcohol- something increasingly more common in camp- or shoving scraps of fabric into men’s mouths to keep them quiet and their tongues intact, Mermista was happy to help and keep her hands busy in any way possible.

What Mermista was not happy to do was find Seahawk in the medical tent one morning. Seeing all of the other injured soldiers had been awful, yes, but seeing her partner hurt and being unable to do anything about it seemed worse than any form of torture the enemies employed. 

She stayed by his side as the doctor examined Seahawk’s condition. There was shrapnel lodged in his chest, most of it piercing the man’s heart and lungs. Once the doctor realized the risk in removing the shrapnel, he knew there was no hope for recovery. Seahawk would die in this tent, on that cot. And Mermista, who had followed Seahawk to make sure he stayed safe, had failed.

“I should never have brought you here, Mermista.” Seahawk had, for the most part, been silent since arriving in the medical tent. Aside from the occasional quiet request for her to sing him a shanty, Mermista hadn’t heard much from her normally talkative partner. “You could have moved on with your life, found someone else to love. But you’re here, watching me die instead.”

She scoffed at that. “Seahawk, if I hadn’t chosen to go after you, I’d be sitting at home with no idea you were hurt. And after all this is over, I’d be beating myself up because I would have no clue what happened to you.” Mermista squeezed his hand. “I love you Seahawk. I’m going to do everything I can to make you proud. Did you really think I wouldn’t choose you, goober?” Somehow, she managed to scrape a small laugh through the tightening of her throat. Because she realized that everything she had said, all those formerly unmentioned things, were true. And yet, Seahawk was barely conscious through it all. She sighed fondly, memorizing every line and freckle on his face.

He had arrived in Mermista’s oceanside village with the morning tide and the sweet-smelling winds of spring. There was a trader who was willing to give him an apprenticeship, not yet realizing the disaster that would bring. Mermista had been pulling in a fishing net the first time she saw the fabled sailor of fire, his body slicing through the ocean as a ship burned down behind him. She had rolled her eyes at his pleas for help, knowing full well he could stand up in the water, given his distance from the beach.

The second time she had seen him was at the pub, after he had had far too many drinks. He had serenaded her then, comparing her to the most tempting siren, the sea herself. She had found it sweet, not that she would admit as much to anyone who asked about the encounter. Mermista ended up walking him home that night, and anyone who saw the pair knew then that the elusive heart of Mermista of Salineas had been found.

Mermista had actually sought him out, that third time. A shirt her father had worn was torn beyond repair, a rich red linen that had just enough surviving material to stitch together a bandana. She was on her way to the market to trade it, she declared to any who would listen, but somehow made a detour to the docks and very charitably gave it to the notorious sailor, who had been recently removed from the trader’s company.

They began courting soon after, she remembered. Those days before the all-consuming destruction had been a blur of happiness and song. (Quite literally. Her sailor had a love for shanties that no one could silence.) Mermista wished more than anything that they could go back to those days. But they couldn’t. Not anymore. There wasn’t even a they that could go back. 

Seahawk had faded away some time in the night, and Mermista, in her selfishness, couldn’t even find the time to properly mourn. She felt more useless than ever, waking to a world quieter by a single beating heart. There had to be something she could do. 

After several days of pacing and sudden realizations of loss, Mermista knew what she had to do. 

“Do you know where the general is?” She had found the first person she had spoken to when arriving at camp, the general’s wife. If anyone could find a way to hide her identity to join the fight, it would be Angella.

The woman sighed. “As of right now, that would be me.” She then explained to Mermista that all capable officers had been taken as prisoners of war or injured beyond belief. Her husband had discussed strategies with her before taking them to his council, and they had always, _always_ , agreed with her plans. A general of such high standing was lucky to have such a brilliant wife.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I know you will see your husband again, Sir.”  
“Sir? The only people calling me that are-” She paused. “Darling, you can’t.”   
“Why not? I came here to keep Seahawk safe, and, I didn’t do that. But I can finish what he started.” Mermista reached for the red bandana wrapped around her neck.

Angella debated with herself for a moment before coming to a decision. “You will begin training in my quarters tomorrow. Espionage is a difficult skill to master, soldier.”

**Author's Note:**

> this fic takes place in uhh, vaguely the past. i like picturing mermista in historical outfits but I had no other excuse, so now this exists. hope you all enjoyed my self indulgence!


End file.
